


The Redemption of Rebecca Rosen

by Elsiejfinch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsiejfinch/pseuds/Elsiejfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’d say it was the accident that started it all, but really it began long before that.<br/>My name is Rebecca Rosen, and this is the story of my redemption… and my rebirth.</p><p>Whoa. Dramatic, right? Lots of alliteration.</p><p>And you can call me Becky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I’d say it was the accident that started it all, but really it began long before that.  
My name is Rebecca Rosen, and this is the story of my redemption… and my rebirth.

Whoa. Dramatic, right? Lots of alliteration.

And you can call me Becky.

 

So, once upon a time I had a normal life. Normal job at Pine Creek library, normal tidy flat with IKEA furniture my mom helped me build, normal dreams of a knight in shining armor rescuing me from my humdrum existence of work, forums, writing, sleeping. (Bonus points if that knight happened to be a real-life Sam; the smart, strong, demon-hunting hero I’d been a fan of since reading the first Supernatural book in 2005.)

Then Chuck Shurley Skyped me, told me all of my dreams and nightmares were real, and nothing was ever truly normal again.

I made lifelong friends and terrifying mortal enemies. I faced ghosts and demons and, however briefly, I had Sam - the real-life Sam Winchester, the gorgeous and brave Hunter whose silky chocolate-brown locks were as soft and manly smelling as I’d always imagined - in my bed.

Most of what I did in those years was really, desperately stupid. I know that now.

When the accident happened, I was still in my own little bubble of denial. My mom had recently been diagnosed with Leukemia, and her health had rapidly deteriorated to the point where I had to quit my job to be her full-time carer. It was okay. I loved my mom, and I needed to help her. We were all each other had left in those days.

My quickie Vegas marriage to Sam had been annulled for over a year, but I still held a candle for him and continued writing my fics - stories where he and his brother Dean finally got their happy endings in one another. The Winchester’s fictional happiness (because who knew what real dangers they were in, or if either of them were even alive) was a much-needed escape from the endless routines of helping Mom to Chemo and appointments and inventing new ridiculous smoothies to keep her sustained through the barrier of her ulcerated mouth and throat. I wanted her pain to end, so badly, but there were no angels on my side to heal her with a touch of their fingers to her forehead.

It was a crisp Friday morning when I shuffled Mom into my hatchback for her next round of Chemo. Chemo days were always bittersweet, because it was the time when Mom was finally feeling better, and then we had to plug her into that bag of chemicals that made her worse again.

We were halfway to the hospital when we sailed through a green light, and a guy in a truck - running late for work, the lawyers told me later - sailed through a red.

 

 

The sound wasn’t like it was on TV. There wasn’t a screech of brakes, pieces of glass didn’t tinkle musically onto the bitumen, it was just one solid and terrifying crunch that still wakes me up some nights.

At first there was just red. Then there was pain.

I couldn’t turn my head. The windshield was right against my face, and something stabbed cruelly at my scalp.

“Mom?” I tried to screech. The glass, metal, whatever it was, bit further into my head.

There was no answer from my right.

_Mom. Please be okay, Please, God, let her be okay._

I’d never truly prayed before, but I prayed right then, the taste of blood thick in my mouth. My vision dimmed, and I swear a light began to glow in the distance.

There it was. I felt my heart stutter and the pain lift.

I was going to die.

 

 _I’m not ready for this_ , I thought frantically. Would I go to heaven?

My thoughts had never been exactly… pure. But that’s okay, they can’t damn you to hell for writing Wincest, can they?

I’d killed a demon. Heavenly points for that one, surely.

But… I drugged and hog-tied Sam Winchester to get there.

Also, uh. I had premarital intercourse with a prophet of the Lord. Big one, always forget that.

 

No. I didn’t think the angels would let me in. And Crowley knew my face already. At least, I knew his... and those flashing eyes were the last thing I saw before my vision turned to blistering white.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke with a terrifying jolt, and it was dark.

 _Hell_ , I thought. _This is Hell_.

Then I noticed the beeping. The tiny pinpoints of LED lights. The rhythmic hushing - like breath - of some sort of machine. I tried to sit up further, but I was stymied by a heavy head and a plastic tube attached to the top of my right hand. With my clumsy left, I tried to yank the needle out, but my fingers wouldn’t grip. A strangled cry escaped my parched throat, and both hands pushed down on the unforgiving mattress, scrambling to try and get purchase and bring me into a sitting position. I felt my hand land on something hard and square, and my fingers recognized a button and stabbed at it blindly.  
  
Within a minute, fluorescent lights blinked on around me. A figure appeared at my bedside, and, flustered, I flung my fist towards it. The figure caught it with a cool hand, and returned my arm to my side calmly.

“Sssh, Rebecca. Shh. Do you know where you are?”

The figure resolved into a person, a serious-faced young man in glasses and blue scrubs. He still held my arm lightly.

I blinked up at him. “I’m not dead?”

“No you’re not,” he said in a smooth voice. “You’re in Pine Creek General.”

 

 

The nurses wouldn’t tell me anything about my mother that night. They didn’t know, they said. The ER Doctor would visit me in the morning.

I barely slept, between the cast on my broken leg, bandages on my aching skull, and visions in my head of the number of times the boys had been in and out of hospital, dangerously wavering on the line between life and death. Sam and Dean always had each other, had John, had Bobby, had Castiel - someone always there to wring their hands in worry and stroke a feverish forehead.

The seat at the side of my hospital bed sat empty, and I watched the sun rise and cast a beam of light onto the beige plastic. That seemed as close as I was going to get to my own angel.

“Rebecca,” a voice came from the doorway, accompanied by a gentle knock. A tall woman in a lab coat strode to the foot of my bed, followed by a shorter woman with curly dark hair.

“Becky,” I said, almost automatically. “Everyone calls me Becky.”

Lab Coat Lady nodded. “It’s good to see you’re awake. I’m Doctor Reynolds, this is Helen Fr—“

“Where’s my mother?” I spoke over the top of her. “They won’t tell me if my mom’s okay.”

The doctor cleared her throat lightly. “We thought it was best to wait until you’d had time to come to terms with your own injuries - they were quite severe.”

“I know people who’ve survived way worse,” I said, feeling sort of helpless from my prone position as she stood in the position of power at my feet. The other woman was now sitting in the ray of light on my plastic chair. I immediately hated her. She wasn’t my angel.

“Multiple compound fractures of the tibia, dislocated left hip, severe lacerations to the head, massive blood loss and a concussion,” Doctor Reynolds said. “You need to take time to rest, Becky.”

I pouted. “I can’t rest if you don’t tell me where my mom is.” I felt a little like a petulant child, but I didn’t care.

The Doctor exchanged glances with the other woman, who now stood and approached my mattress prison silently, concern etched into her plain features.  
  
Doctor Reynolds sighed. “Becky, I’m afraid your mom didn’t make it to the hospital. The collision was—“ she paused, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “It was instantaneous. There was nothing anyone could do.”

 

 

A ringing started in my ears, and I wondered if my angel was coming after all.

I stared at the crisp white sheets covering my busted legs for what felt like an hour. It was probably ten seconds.

The curly-haired plain woman touched my hand, and I couldn’t pull it back.


End file.
